


I Fell in Love With a Dead Boy

by Amberina



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-18
Updated: 2006-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberina/pseuds/Amberina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winifred Burkle finds Nemo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Fell in Love With a Dead Boy

Fred Burkle had a dream that she was underwater. Someone -- something? -- was pulling her down, as she struggled to swim up. Her arms ached as she frantically pushed against the water, never gaining any -- no, ground isn't the right word; think, Winifred, think -- never succeeding. Water rushed into her lungs as she gasped involuntarily. She didn't mean to, she really didn't, but there she was, dying. Soon, she'd be dead at the bottom of the ocean.

She stopped struggling. She floated downward, towards something that would be her hell, maybe, or possibly her heaven. She was a good girl, of this she was sure. She shined her shoes and sat up straight and never spoke with her mouth full. At least, not on purpose.

Years passed as she made her descent. Fred grew old, but the ocean stayed the same. Unchanging, unchangeable. It would exist long after she decomposed. She was more for physics than biology, but she knew this like she knew that it was a bad idea to read that book in the library. Of course, she did anyway, and this -- she knows this, of course of course a horse, would never have happened if she didn't go into the spinny-spinny suck me dry portal, of course. Of course.

Of course, Fred suspects her mind is deteriorating and considering how long it's been she thinks maybe Alzheimers -- her dad always called it "Old Timer's" but she never corrected him. Never. Winifred Burkle respected her elders and they respected her, but only because of her brain -- so big for her little body, one teacher said to her, smelling of weed and Ovaltine. She'd thanked him and reminded him you passed to your left. Also, your right and up and down and all around if there's only one other person in the room with you. And they'd laughed because it was funny, just for that moment.

Daddy took her to church when she was a little girl. She'd shined her shoes and sat up straight, but he whisper-yelled at her because you do not gulp your fruit-punch-Jesus-blood. You sip it like a fine wine, he said, and she found that funny. She laughed and laughed, eight-years-old and drunk on Hawaiian Punch.

But none of that was as funny as this, right now, was. I've found Nemo, she'd say if she could, or if anyone would listen. She and Cordelia had a movie night, with popcorn (low fat) and Diet Coke, sometime. It feels simultaneously like yesterday and a million years ago and it could be both. It really could. Fred was certain of this, certain that she'd learned about some physics principle that made this possible -- but it escaped her. But there, in front of her was Nemo, smelling like fish sticks and she felt just like Ariel, but maybe she was getting her movies mixed up. They'd watched both.

Fred laughed because she was crazy and she knew this, but she had no blank wall to scribble pi on now. She was dying, only there was no light to walk into, just murky blue-blackness and cartoon fish and memories of weed and shiny, shiny shoes.

At age twenty and two-hundred, Fred's feet hit the bottom of the ocean. She rested on her hands and knees, grasping at a random rock, a bit of some plant she wasn't up to trying to identify, desperate to keep herself from floating once more. She wasn't dead, she wasn't alive -- was she? she wasn't breathing, not in the usual sense -- she was just there. She felt solid. She closed her eyes and a calmness draped over her. She still felt unsteady, unsure of what was happening and more than a little scared, but it was a pleasant feeling. Exciting. A warm breeze seemed to wash over her and her entire body tingled. She could live with this, if only she could survive it.

Fred opened her eyes and just like that -- she wasn't startled awake, she didn't sit up straight in bed -- her dream was over. A darkness hung over the room, telling her it was still night. She felt smooth cotton sheets under her naked skin and an arm draped over her stomach. Angel was beside her, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He was unchanging, unchangeable. Fred would shine her shoes in the morning.


End file.
